


Contingency Plan

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [45]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, One Last...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: He tried, he really did.  But he’s not going to get better and it’s time to accept that and transfer out.  Trouble is, Sarge won’t approve his transfer, not until he comes to one last meeting.





	1. One Last Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the forty-fifth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Fallen Angel".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_, _Harry Potter_, _Narnia_, or _Merlin_.

On the day after requesting a transfer out of the SRU, Kevin Wordsworth found a photocopy of his request in his locker with the word “Denied” stamped on it and a Post-It note telling him to come to the briefing room once he changed. Confused and surprised that Sarge was going _this_ far to get him to stay, Wordy scrambled through getting his uniform on and fairly bolted out of the locker room, almost running into Ed in the process.

Wordy tossed a, “Sorry,” over his shoulder and hurried up the ramp.

Sarge was waiting just inside the briefing room door, a peculiar gleam in his eyes. He waved Wordy inside, then looked across at Winnie. “Winnie, tell everyone else to hit the workout room unless we get a call out.”

“Copy that,” the dispatcher agreed, her expression curious.

Wordy stood next to the table, trying not to fidget as Sarge tapped the controls to close the barrier. “Wordy, have a seat,” Sarge instructed with a smile. “You’re not in trouble.”

“Sarge, why’d you deny my request?”

The gleam grew deeper as Sarge flipped the manila folder on the table open, revealing the original transfer request. Wordy’s eyebrows shot up when he realized “Denied” was _not_ stamped on the original. The Sergeant settled himself in a chair, pointedly waiting until his constable sat down to speak. He tapped the form. “This is still active, Wordy. That’s why I made a copy.”

“You wanted to get my attention, but why?” Wordy spread his hands. “I’m not going to get better, Sarge, and I’ve stayed as long as I can.”

“Until Ed violated your privacy,” Sarge corrected gently. Watching Wordy deflate a bit, the older man shook his head. “Wordy, if Ed had gone digging around in _my_ locker, I’d’ve written him up. I _still_ can, if you want.”

Wordy shook his head. “No, Sarge, it’s okay.” Drawing in a deep breath, the brunet looked up at his boss. “What did you want to talk about, Sarge?”

For the first time, a slightly sheepish look crossed the Sergeant’s face. “Well, it’s not so much _me_ that wants to talk to you before you leave…”

“We wanted to,” Alanna piped up as the two teens dropped their Disillusionment Charms.

Wordy jumped at their sudden appearance, then cocked his head to the side. “And you needed to talk _before_ I transferred out _because_?”

Lance offered something to Alanna, but she shook her head and propelled her brother towards Wordy. “Your idea, big brother mine,” she chided, but there was a wry grin on her face.

The teen shook off his sister’s pushing and walked right up to Wordy, offering a small box to the constable. “What’s this?” Wordy asked, taking it and opening it up to blink at a silver bracelet, gleaming and shiny in its resting place.

“Um, well, if it works like we hope…it’s…acureforParkinson’sDisease.”

Wordy blinked at the blurted, mashed up sentence, then he froze in shock, staring between Lance and the box. “A cure?” he breathed. “For Parkinson’s?” Denial surged; he’d _gone_ to a Healer and he’d _tried_ to find a magical cure. “But, there isn’t one,” he protested.

“We know,” Alanna agreed quietly. “This isn’t a cure in the sense of you won’t have Parkinson’s any more. You’ll still have it, but it won’t matter anymore.”

The big man was still puzzled. “So…you came up with something to, what, control my symptoms?”

The siblings traded glances, then looked back at him and nodded. “That about sums it up,” Alanna drawled. “It’s still a work-in-progress, but we think it’s ready for action.”

“Because I’m about to transfer,” Wordy guessed.

“No.” Lance straightened. “We were going to give it to you anyway. We finished it yesterday, then Uncle Greg came home and told us about your transfer request.”

Gray eyes shifted to Sarge. “Sarge, you knew about this?”

A rueful chuckle. “No,” Sarge replied. “They surprised me with it when I came home.”

Realization dawned. “So _that’s_ why you ‘denied’ my transfer request,” Wordy teased, earning a nod from his boss. The constable pulled the gleaming metal bracelet from the box. “Okay, you two brats, what do I do with this thing?”

Lance snagged it, opening up the clasp and tugging on each side; one eyebrow hiked as the bracelet opened up, almost like a cuff. “Which arm?”

“Left,” Wordy decided, watching as the teen slipped it on and pushed the sides back together. Two fingers moved to the clasp; there was a breath, then the clasp closed and the bracelet lit green. No, not the bracelet…runes he hadn’t noticed before lit green, creating a glow around the bracelet that seemed to shimmer a moment before settling back and looking more like the engraving had been painted green or maybe like he was wearing a fancier bracelet version of a mood ring.

“Nice.”

Lance didn’t respond, he was focusing on the bracelet as it kept glowing green. The teen frowned, tilting his head to the side; his frown grew deeper the longer the green glow continued. After a moment, he sighed to himself and reached forward to press his finger against three colored discs Wordy hadn’t even noticed until then. As Lance touched the blue circle, the runes shifted color to blue and a yellow ring surrounded the circle. Next, Lance pressed the black circle, heralding another change of color as the runes turned black and the yellow ring moved to the black disc.

“Okay, overrides are working,” Lance murmured, pressing the black disc again. The yellow ring vanished and the runes returned to their original green hue.

“Why is it still green, then?” Alanna asked before Wordy could.

“Well,” Lance replied, shifting back on his heels. “It could be because Uncle Wordy’s only had the bracelet on maybe a minute. Or it could be a problem with the programming.”

A low whistle escaped at the mention of programming and Wordy turned his wrist to inspect the bracelet better. Two rows of small runes marched along the outside of the bracelet in flowing script that looked a bit…familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“How will you know?” Sarge asked curiously, leaning forward to examine the bracelet himself.

Lance hiked his shoulders in a shrug. “I suppose we’ll know if the emergency part works in about…” he checked his watch, “…forty minutes or so. That’s when the power level should dip below the emergency threshold I programmed in _if_ the bracelet stays on high.”

Wordy arched a pointed brow. “High?”

Alanna moved around the table. “The outside is all the programming runes,” she explained. “The healing runes are on the inside and I came up with seven sequences.” Wordy’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Anyway, they take a lot of magic…that’s why Lance had to come up with the programming in the first place…so if the bracelet runs all of them at once, it only has power for about an hour.”

Lance cut in before Wordy could ask the next question. “I set it up so it shifts to emergency mode if the power dips below twenty-five percent. That’s why we can’t get the full hour right now.”

“Copy,” Wordy agreed, inspecting the bracelet with fresh eyes. “So, when does it shift off of high?”

“It should do it automatically once you’re within human normal parameters. That part depends on the magic, though.” Lance fidgeted. “Like I said, it’s kinda still a work in progress.”

“And _I’m_ the guinea pig,” Wordy teased, grinning as the pair flushed scarlet.

He was starting to figure out what they’d meant, that they would have given him the bracelet even _without_ his transfer request; they’d clearly gone as far as they could without field-testing their creation. Ironically, if he’d held out _just_ a little longer, maybe he wouldn’t have had to put in a transfer request at all. Even though his meds were starting to have less and less effect, if he’d _known_ the kids were up to _this_, he would’ve held out.

Curious, he looked between the teens and his Sergeant. “Why keep this quiet?”

The adolescents flinched. Alanna drew in a deep breath and answered first. “We weren’t sure we could make it work,” she admitted, resting her chin on her arms. “Seven runic sequences is really only the tip of the iceberg and we had a _lot_ of help getting the prototype done.”

“How long _have_ you two been working on this?” Sarge questioned.

“Since the day you told us about Uncle Wordy’s diagnosis,” Lance returned flatly.

Comprehension shone in Sarge’s eyes. “So _this_ is why you two didn’t want to go anywhere this summer and tried to skate on your schoolwork.”

The nods were sheepish and Wordy frowned. “Hey, it’s not like Parkinson’s is a death sentence,” he scolded. “Don’t put your lives on hold like this again.”

Lance’s expression was decidedly unimpressed with the scolding, though he said nothing. For another few minutes, the clock ticked away, then Sarge cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t think those runes are going to change color in the next five minutes, so, Wordy, you can head to the workout room. I’ll hang onto your transfer request, but I won’t sign off on it until you tell me to. Fair enough?”

“That works, Sarge,” Wordy agreed at once. “Come back when the runes turn color?”

“Blue or black,” Lance confirmed.

Sarge turned towards his _nipotes_ and pointed at them. “You two had better have your homework with you.”

“We do,” Alanna replied at once. “Um…mine is in the car, though.”

“Me too.”

Wordy choked on a laugh and Sarge’s expression turned amused; it was clear the pair hadn’t wanted to take away from the big reveal. “All right,” the Sergeant acknowledged, “Go on, go get it.”

The two vanished almost before he was done talking and Wordy chuckled. “I’ll be back in half an hour, Sarge.”

“Copy. I’m going to tell Winnie to make Team Four the active team for this shift. If Ed asks, it’s my punishment for him going through your locker.”

Wordy snickered and strolled out of the briefing room, much more cheerful than when he’d arrived.

* * * * *

If Wordy had been watching the clock, he would have known that the runes shifted color, from green to black, just over forty minutes after Lance had fastened the clasp. The constable immediately finished up on the weight machine he’d been using and headed back to the briefing room. As he walked, he fingered the metal, feeling the grooves he’d missed the first time he’d picked the bracelet up.

Lance and Alanna looked up from their schoolwork; to Wordy’s bemusement, it was Alanna who abandoned her books and hurried over. He reached for the clasp, but the redhead shook her head and simply touched the bracelet. The bracelet turned violet as the girl charged it; idly, Wordy checked his watch and mentally whistled when it took her only three minutes to charge the bracelet.

“Has that got a timer?” Alanna asked, following his gaze to his watch.

Wordy shrugged. “Sure.” He shifted the watch to timer mode. “Tell me when.”

The bracelet lit violet again for a second or two, then, “Now.”

The constable pressed down the start button as Alanna stepped back. “Stop it when the runes change color?” Wordy questioned, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

Alanna nodded, her smile rather impish.

* * * * *

The alarm went off half an hour later and Ed, as expected, was indignant when Team Four got the call instead of Team One. Wordy gleefully passed on Sarge’s cover story, smirking at the expression on Ed’s face. Ed did not take his ‘punishment’ lying down and headed out of the workout room to complain to Sarge directly. He was still gone when the runes turned black. Wordy stopped the timer, inspecting it curiously. Forty-one minutes, not too shabby, especially considering the kids were probably still working with theoretical estimates.

He left the workout room, trading a tease with Spike on his way out, then jogged up towards the briefing room. Lance was lurking outside, a wry grin on his face. Wordy headed straight for the teen, who recharged the bracelet without a word, though Lance nodded thoughtfully when Wordy showed him the watch timer.

Softly, Lance asked, “How are you feeling?”

Just as quietly, Wordy replied, “I know I have Parkinson’s ‘cause the doctors told me, but I’ve never _felt_ different.” One shoulder hiked. “I could try the test Toth had me do, but I took my meds this morning.”

Lance nodded in understanding. “When do they wear off, do you know?”

“Well, have to take ‘em twice daily,” Wordy mused. “But I’d probably have to go off them a couple weeks to have them out of my system. Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Lance replied. “I guess I knew it was gonna be messy, just didn’t really think about it.” He glanced at the runes and made a face. “Still green, huh?”

Wordy glanced down at the glowing runes. “How long are you going to leave it? Sarge sure isn’t going to like you and your sister skipping school for more than one day.”

“I know,” Lance admitted. “I have a backup plan if we need it, but let’s see how the rest of today goes, all right?”

The constable shrugged. “Works for me, kiddo.” He darted a look at the briefing room. “I’d better disappear before Ed catches on.”

“Copy that,” the teenager chuckled.

* * * * *

Ed’s foul temper over being sidelined soon translated to the team, outside, doing sprints in full gear. Not even Sarge was spared, but the Sergeant was a better sport about it than the rest of his team, save one. Wordy deliberately adjusted his pace to run with Sarge, the two trading glances that were a combination of amusement and resignation. The pair was just finishing up the sixth of ten laps when Wordy had a sense of something being…_right_. As if the world had been _just_ a touch off-kilter and now it was back on track. His breathing was also a touch easier and his thinking was clearer than it had been, even that morning. The difference was small, but noticeable. The constable stole a brief look down at his wrist, but he was running too fast to really examine the runic bracelet.

Though tempted to pick up his pace, Wordy forced himself to stay steady beside Sarge. Four laps later, Wordy slid to a stop and immediately pushed back his sleeve enough to see the bracelet. Blue runes glittered back at him.

“It works, it really works,” Wordy whispered, shifting his arm to show Sarge.

Sarge clapped him on the back. “Let’s see what _mio nipotes_ want to do next.”

“Copy _that_.”


	2. Field Testing

Lance grinned at him as he charged the bracelet up to full. “Okay, if it sticks to normal mode, then it should last about a week.”

“Should?”

Twin nods, then Wordy understood and felt a bit foolish for questioning them. “Theory meets real world.”

Alanna fidgeted, then countered, “More like, limited testing meets real world.”

Her brother picked up before either adult could ask. “Okay, since the emergency level is hardwired in, it _should_ go from full to twenty-five percent power in five days, six hours.”

Wordy nodded briskly, turning towards his Sergeant. “Sarge, you got a spare piece of paper.”

Sarge held up his clipboard, which he’d already scrawled their estimate on. “What else does Wordy need to know?” he asked the youngsters.

Alanna poked Lance in the side. “The clasp.”

The teen lit up. “Ooh, good catch, ‘Lanna.” Hurrying over, he reached up and flicked the clasp open.

“Hey!”

“Refasten it and I’ll explain,” Lance promised. Wordy rolled his eyes and pushed the fastening closed again. Green runes flickered on, stayed a few seconds, then shifted to blue. Lance charged the bracelet up again as he elaborated. “Only the person who puts that on or an authorized person can take it off again.”

“Who’s authorized right now?” Sarge questioned.

“Right now?” Lance counted on his fingers. “Me, ‘Lanna, and, um, Merlin.”

“Merlin?” Wordy hissed in shock.

“Who do you think helped us with this?” Lance queried, tilting his head to the side. “We wouldn’t even have gotten off the ground without Merlin’s help.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “The security spell on the clasp was Merlin’s idea and he made _sure_ it was completely independent from the rest of the bracelet. I don’t know exactly what he did, but he told us that if someone tries to coerce you into taking the bracelet off, then it won’t come off.”

Wordy whistled low, running a hand over the bracelet. It hadn’t even sunk in yet that this might actually work. That he might be able to stay in a job he loved, with a team he loved, regardless of the Parkinson’s. He certainly hadn’t gotten to the point of wondering how he was going to keep from _losing_ the priceless, one-of-a-kind device. “Is this made of silver?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sarge’s pen freeze mid-letter. Oh, boy. This was going to be a _doozy_. And the kids were giving him wide-eyed innocent looks to boot.

Then, in as angelic a voice as she could manage, Alanna informed him, “It’s made of mithril.”

Mithril, mithril, where had he heard that word before? Where on Earth had he heard th… “_Mithril?_ As in _Lord of the Rings_? _That_ mithril?” Sarge shoved a chair under him as he sat down, _hard_. “You guys…where did you even _find_ mithril?”

Lance shrugged, as if giving someone a fortune in a metal that wasn’t _even supposed to exist_ was nothing. Just a minor detail. Hardly worth mentioning. “When Merlin made our new wands, the dwarves gave him a gift for me. That bracelet. And they made _sure_ to tell Merlin that it was _meant_ for something. _This_.”

“Huh?”

Alanna stepped in. “Uncle Wordy, what we made, it _needs_ mithril to work. No other type of metal can hold enough magic. Believe me, we _tried_. Even the mithril has limits, but it _works_.”

Wordy swallowed hard, staring down at the gleaming metal and its glowing runes. “I…I…you guys are just going to _give_ this to me?”

“Yes, we are,” Lance whispered. “It’s _worth_ it, Uncle Wordy. Believe me, it’s _more_ than worth it.”

He meant it, too, and Wordy was reminded of how the young man in front of him had sacrificed most of his family’s political power for a _Squib_, for someone the rest of the wizarding world was content to shun and ignore. The constable’s throat tightened. “Thanks.” He wanted to tell Sarge to rip up his transfer request, that he was staying, but caution stayed him. He needed to test the bracelet first. And himself.

Wordy looked up and Sarge read his expression perfectly. “We’ll see how this week goes,” the Sergeant concluded firmly. “I’ve already got tests planned out, Wordy. I don’t expect you to be perfect, but you’ll meet requirements or I’ll sign the transfer.”

“Got it, Sarge.”

“And Wordy?” Sarge added before Wordy could get up. “The meds.”

Hiding the flash of terror, Wordy nodded solemnly. “Stop taking them.”

“Exactly.”

* * * * *

It was harder than Wordy expected to forgo his usual meds and keep Shelley from noticing he was sporting a new piece of jewelry. Wearing the bracelet all night hadn’t been an issue, though the shower had been nerve-wracking; he was half-afraid he’d _rust_ the thing by getting it wet. The constable made a note to ask, but it had belatedly occurred to him that if mithril was even _half_ as tough and strong as the _Lord of the Rings_ movies made it look, then it could probably handle getting wet.

By the time he arrived at work, Sarge had all the arrangements made. While Team One was still very much on duty, they were the _secondary_ team for the rest of the week. Instead of springing the news on Ed mid-shift, the Sergeant assembled them all in the briefing room and laid things out. They would go out if necessary, but the week was now more of a training week.

“Ed, put together a few drills for us to do and everyone, put in some extra range time.”

“Trying to get Toth off our backs?” Sam questioned.

“Would be nice,” Sarge acknowledged. “But, no, Sam, I’m not expecting him to be impressed by a week of training. His issues with the team are more…psychological.”

Jules snorted. “Our psych evals.”

An agreeing nod from the Sergeant, though Wordy worked to conceal a squirm. Toth’s issues with _him_ were far more on the physical side, unlike most of his teammates. Glancing around, he could tell that his coworkers weren’t all that bothered by the idea of a more laid back week. Lou and Spike were even trading their usual pre-prank grins. Only Ed looked unhappy and Wordy figured that was due more to the ‘last minute’ deal than because he was honestly upset.

Sarge clapped once. “Okay, let’s get started.” Rapidly, he assigned them to different areas, putting Wordy in the range first and casting his constable a discreet look before he listed out where the rest of Team One would be spending their first ‘training day’.

* * * * *

Ed’s bark in his ear was oddly reassuring as Wordy fired round after round, working his way up to the four disc targets he’d failed on months earlier. Even better, every shot went precisely where he wanted it to, as if all the time he’d spent on the range to keep his skills up was now paying unexpected dividends.

When he was done and Ed hauled in his target, the team leader looked impressed. “Nice going, Word,” he praised, as they both stared at the clustered holes. “That’s almost as good as Jules.” Wordy hardly registered his friend’s backslap as he worked to keep his jaw from dropping. While he’d always been up to SRU requirements, he’d also had to _work_ to keep himself up to snuff. “Maybe we need to get you a sniper training class,” Ed mused.

“Maybe,” Wordy replied, not even paying attention to what he was saying. He shook his head, then asked, “How are we swapping up?”

“Sarge wants you in with him next,” Ed instructed, nudging Wordy towards the exit.

* * * * *

Sarge’s expression was intent as Wordy took his seat. Barely was the constable down, when Sarge instructed, “Word association and I want your hands up the entire time.”

“Got it,” Wordy acknowledged, mirroring the test Toth had nailed him with months before. Both Sergeant and constable paused, watching for the telltale twitch.

When it didn’t come, Sarge nodded and snapped, “Sky.”

“Blue.”

“Wine.”

“Bottle.”

“Bomb.”

“Spike.”

“What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

* * * * *

Wordy sighed in relief, leaning back in his seat and dropping his arms down to the table as Sarge chuckled quietly at him. “Don’t relax too soon, Constable Wordsworth,” Sarge chided, sliding a paper and pen across the table. “Sign and date.”

The constable groaned theatrically, then picked up the pen and scrawled his name and the date at the bottom of the form. At least Sarge hadn’t dumped a load of paperwork on him…_this_ time. Wordy pushed both back across the table, checking the bracelet on his wrist as he did so. Blue glowed serenely back at him.

“Still blue?”

“Yep.”

“How are your range scores?”

Wordy grinned. “I think Ed’s starting to wonder what’s up. I’ve _never_ been this good before.”

Sarge nodded approval, tapping his pen thoughtfully. “Some of that is probably all the time you’ve been putting in on the range,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” Wordy agreed, idly playing with the mithril band. “But it’s making me wonder how long I’ve _really_ had Parkinson’s.”

The other man stilled, giving Wordy’s observation some thought. After several minutes, he nodded slowly. “I can see that,” he murmured. “You didn’t get diagnosed until the symptoms started showing, but those symptoms didn’t come out of nowhere.” Briskly, Sarge changed the subject. “If we’re right on target, the power should hit twenty-five percent sometime this evening. How do you want to handle this?”

Wordy fidgeted. “I, ah, I kinda told Shelley it was a guys night out tonight,” he admitted.

Sarge chuckled. “Want to have dinner at my place, then?”

Gratitude shone. “Thanks, Sarge.”

* * * * *

It was just after eight in the evening when the bracelet shifted color to black, drawing instant attention from one and all. “Five days, five hours,” Greg observed as his niece hopped up and recharged the bracelet.

Lance made a face. “That would put the next time it needs a recharge at three in the morning.”

“Can’t you change the emergency level?” Wordy asked.

“Sure, but I’d rather get a few more timed runs under our belts before I monkey with the emergency level,” Lance replied. “Plus, to change the level, we’d have to take the bracelet back for a little bit.”

“Little bit?”

The teen sighed quietly. “We’ve got everything on our computers, but it still takes time to remove the current programming runes and apply the new ones,” he explained.

Alanna looked up from her task. “What if Uncle Wordy stays overnight and I recharge the bracelet again in the morning?” she suggested. “Then it would be easier on us for test number three.”

Lance considered that, then looked up at Wordy. “Up to you, but it sounds good to me. I’m good with changing the emergency level after three timed tests.”

Wordy debated, then glanced at his boss. “Sarge?”

Sarge leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “So, if the bracelet sticks with the same timing as it did now, I suspect we’re an hour or two short of a perfect seven day charge.”

“Maybe an hour and a half?” Alanna suggested, tilting her head. “It can run longer on emergency power, but that cuts out three of the runic sequences.”

Looking back at his constable, Sarge opined, “Three test runs before changing anything sounds like a plan to _me_, Wordy. We can make it work.”

Wordy sighed to himself, but bowed to his Sergeant’s greater experience. “Um, if _I_ call Shel, she’ll see through me in an instant.”

Greg bit back a laugh. “I’ll handle it,” he promised. “And I’ll ask her to take it easy on you.”

* * * * *

Shelley picked up the phone on the third ring. “Kevin?”

“Hi, Shelley, it’s Greg.”

Shelley’s worry was easy to hear. “Is Kevin with you?”

“Yes, he’s here and he’s fine,” Greg reassured her. He paused, as if considering how to phrase it, then sighed. “He’s not in any shape to drive right now, though.”

An exasperated sound came through the phone. “_Men_. How much did he drink?”

Greg snapped on alert. “Has Wordy been drinking lately?”

Shelley audibly hesitated. Then she sighed. “More since his diagnosis,” she admitted. “He never gets drunk, but…”

“I’ll talk to him,” Greg promised wholeheartedly.

* * * * *

Wordy swallowed at the look in his boss’s eyes. “Sarge?”

“Don’t make my mistake, Wordy.”

“Huh?”

“Shelley told me you’ve been drinking more.”

Oh. Wordy sank down, avoiding the disappointment in his Sergeant’s eyes. He missed the genuine worry that far outweighed the disapproval. “A bit,” Wordy confessed to the floor.

“How much this week?”

Wordy blinked. “Haven’t even thought about it,” he admitted after thinking through the question. “I’ve been busy.”

He looked up to see Sarge’s eyes grow a touch more shadowed. “Wordy, this,” he pointed at the bracelet, “is probably going to work. I hope that’s enough to keep you from going down _my_ road. But I want you to think about what I did and what I lost; don’t _ever_ think that a bottle is a good place to find an answer. It’s _not_.”

The older man left before Wordy could put together a coherent reply and the constable swallowed hard, remembering, all too well, that his Sergeant had lost his family to his alcoholism. As the living room lights turned out, Wordy curled up under the blanket he’d been lent and laid awake, thinking about his own choices and how he’d stepped on the edge of thin ice. His gaze fell to the mithril bracelet and he sighed internally. It had to be a tool, not a crutch, but that was easier said than done.

For most of the night, Wordy stayed awake, thinking through his recent problems and actions as he tried to figure out how he could have reacted better. And how he should do better moving forward. As dawn peeked through the windows, he thought he had a few answers, but he needed to talk to his wife before he made any decisions.


	3. Stay Or Go?

“Did you have a good night out?”

Wordy paused at his wife’s question. She hadn’t said, ‘Did you enjoy getting _drunk_?’, but he was pretty sure that was what she thought he’d done. Time to ‘fess up. “Actually, I was over at Sarge’s place,” he replied, leaning against the kitchen door jamb and crossing his arms so the bracelet on his arm was visible. Emmy landed on his wrist, cheeping curiously; the little emerald glass hummingbird had been trying to investigate his new jewelry all week.

Shelley halted in the middle of opening up a cabinet. Slowly, she pulled a glass down, then turned towards him, one eyebrow arching at the sight of Emmy perched on her husband’s wrist. “Then why?” _Why did you lie to me?_

“I told you I was planning to transfer out,” Wordy began awkwardly, fidgeting just a bit.

His wife nodded. “Did you change your mind?”

“I’m not sure,” Wordy admitted quietly. “The meds haven’t been working quite as well, you know that, and then,” he swallowed, “Ed went through my locker.”

“Why did he do that?” Shelley demanded, her eyes flashing with anger. One hand propped on her hip and the other brandished the glass she was holding.

Wordy snorted. “Ed doesn’t like people keeping secrets, even when it’s none of his business,” was the bitter answer. “Anyway, that was the last straw, Shel. I put in my transfer request and I figured that was the end of it.”

“But?”

As soon as the brunet started moving, Emmy abandoned her perch, fluttering over to her feeder. Wordy flashed a tiny smile at the bird as he walked into the kitchen and to the sink, bracing both hands against the countertop and casually adjusting his arm enough so that the mithril bracelet flashed in the sunlight. “Sarge denied my request.”

“What, why?”

“Shel, all of this was on Monday.”

“_Monday_?”

Wordy nodded sheepishly. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Shelley. I didn’t want to get your hopes up if it didn’t work.”

Suspicion glowed. “If _what_ didn’t work?”

“This.” Wordy lifted his arm and tapped the metal. As Shelley inspected the bracelet, he added, even more sheepishly, “Lance and Alanna made it for me.”

“I don’t understand. Kevin, what is this?”

A grin broke free. “Shel, this,” he tapped the bracelet again, “This is going to keep my Parkinson’s under control. It’s _already_ gotten me back to what I was before I was diagnosed. My range scores are the best they’ve ever been and Sarge’s been running me through brain twisters every day this week.”

Shelley’s eyes went wide and she gasped softly, staring up at her husband.

“Last night, I was at Sarge’s place so the kids could get a better idea of how it’s working so far and, um, recharge it.”

“Recharge it?”

Wordy nodded, rubbing the back of his head. “It works, Shel, but it needs a lot of power, so the kids are going to have to keep it going.”

The blonde’s expression turned considering. “Like a rechargeable battery?”

“Yeah.”

Shelley turned her husband’s wrist to see the bracelet better. “What kind of runes are those?”

“Don’t know,” Wordy confessed. “I haven’t asked.”

“Is this why you’ve been skipping your meds?”

The constable froze, shocked that Shelley had caught him. With a sigh, he hung his head and nodded morosely.

Shelley shook her head, amused that Kevin thought he’d slipped his activities by her. Of _course_ she’d known he was skipping his meds. That was another part of why she’d been so worried when Greg called. But now that they were getting things out in the open… “Kevin, did Greg talk to you about…”

“Yeah, he did, Shel,” Kevin confirmed. “I’m sorry,” he continued miserably. “It just…sometimes I just wanted to forget about all this and that seemed like the easiest way.” He was quiet for a few moments. “I’ll try not to do it again, Shelley.”

“Well, you won’t do it here,” Shelley declared. At his puzzled look, she gave him a thin-lipped smile. “I got rid of all our alcohol yesterday.” She hadn’t been about to wait until things got worse. The blonde woman pointedly ignored her husband’s guilty expression. “If this bracelet does what you say it does, why aren’t you sure about the transfer?”

“I wanted to talk to you first.”

Shelley smiled broadly, interlacing her fingers with Kevin’s. He was still the man she loved, mistakes, misjudgments, and all. And he tried so hard to make up for his failures. “I think, if you go through with this transfer, you’ll regret it, Kevin. You didn’t even _want_ to put in for it, remember?”

He nodded. “You said it was better to get settled into a new job before I got worse.”

“I did,” Shelley agreed. Pulling her fingers free, she ran them over the bracelet, feeling the engraving of the runes under her sensitive fingertips. “How long did this take them to make?”

“If Sarge told them the same day I told him, then they’ve been working on it since summer,” Kevin reported. “Lance flat out admitted that they got help from Merlin, too.”

Shelley giggled. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing you mention Merlin like that, like he’s a real person that you can just go out and meet.”

He laughed. “I know. Ed told me once that if someone had told him he’d end up on a team that worked in the magical world, he’d have had them committed.” His other hand covered up hers on the bracelet, the blue runes glittering around their hands. “So? You think I should stay?”

“I think we should get a doctor’s opinion, first.”

“Copy that.”

* * * * *

Jesse Travis’s eyes were wide as he prodded at the bracelet around his patient’s wrist. Over his shoulder, his sister let out a low whistle. “Almost makes you wonder what else those two can come up with,” she mused.

“Not alone,” Wordsworth pointed out.

“Still,” Jesse murmured, before getting down to business. “In practical terms, Constable Wordsworth, we’ll have to wait until your Parkinson’s medication is completely out of your system to run tests. Otherwise the medication will taint the results.”

Wordsworth nodded once.

“Even magic-side, that’s the case,” Susan agreed crisply. “I can start researching what the Wild Mages did, make sure it won’t hurt you. It might be that your body will eventually adjust to the bracelet, just as it was starting to do with the medication.”

“I don’t think they’d give me anything that would hurt me,” Wordsworth argued.

“Better to be safe than sorry,” Susan countered. Jesse watched as his sister pulled out a sheaf of parchment and a quill. “Now, how long have you been wearing that?”

“Six days,” Wordsworth replied, his expression wary.

“Have you taken the bracelet off during that time?”

“No.”

A disapproving noise. “I’ll need you to take it off now, Constable,” Susan instructed.

“Why?”

“So I can examine it, of course,” Susan snapped in her ‘are-you-really-that-stupid’ voice.

“And, what, take it with you for _more_ examining?”

Jesse sidled back, out of the line of fire. He couldn’t say he knew the Wordsworths well, but he had a feeling that the only way Susan was getting that silver bracelet was over the constable’s dead body. He wished he could haul his sister out and tell her to cool it, but Susan often had to fight to prove herself in the magical world. If she could deliver a cure like _this_, her name would be made, Muggleborn or not.

“Depending on what I find in the initial examination, yes,” Susan informed the couple. “You never can tell what some random enchanted object will do.”

Wordsworth gave it right back. “This _isn’t_ ‘some random enchanted object’,” he countered. “It’s a magical device built for a specific purpose by two kids who spent _months_ trying to get this right.”

Message received, Jesse thought, watching his sister’s jaw twitch. Wordsworth wasn’t going to let Susan horn in on a discovery _she_ hadn’t made and he wasn’t giving up the bracelet either. The young doctor stepped in before Susan could put her foot any further down her throat. “At some point, we would like a more detailed explanation of how the device works,” he explained, giving the Wordsworths his best doctor smile. “But I think that can wait until we’re in a position to actually run tests on how well it’s working.”

“I’ll have to check with the kids, but I’m sure that won’t be an issue,” Wordsworth conceded. “So, stay off the meds for now?”

“Yes, that’s our best course if we’re going to get an accurate picture of how this new ‘treatment’ works,” Jesse agreed. “And keep your eyes open for any signs of deterioration in the meantime.”

“I can do that,” the constable confirmed.

* * * * *

Shelley’s expression was rather nervous. “Kevin, if it could start wearing off…”

Wordy sighed. He didn’t _think_ that would happen, but it _was_ possible. “Then, then I’ll transfer,” he replied. “But I can’t live my life on ‘what-if’s, Shel. And Sarge needs to know if I’m transferring or not.”

Shelley considered her husband, smiling just a bit at the puppy-dog look in his eyes. “The puppy eyes, Kevin? Really?” She laughed as he worked in an innocent blink. “You’re going to keep an eye on this, right, Kevin?”

“I am,” he promised. “Sarge is, too, and I bet the rest of the team will once I tell them.”

“They don’t know?” She was surprised; surely his team had noticed that he wasn’t gone yet.

He shrugged. “Not sure what they think. Sarge dropped a few hints about paperwork getting backed up, but I wanted to tell you first.”

And Greg had obliged. Truly, where would her husband find a team like the one he already had? It wasn’t like he would be in grave danger if the bracelet failed, especially if it was slow, like the medication. “I want to say wait for the test results, but…”

“But that’s going to take a couple weeks.”

Shelley nodded. “Okay,” she decided. “I’m giving you a provisional ‘yes’, subject to what these tests find out.”

Kevin fidgeted. “If Healer Travis asks for the bracelet again?”

The blonde woman shook her head. “Kevin, I saw the exact same thing you did. I say tell her to take a hike, just like you did today. If something goes wrong, give the bracelet back to the kids, see if they can fix it, but I’m not going to let her take credit for their work.”

Shelley wasn’t expecting Kevin to swing her up and around with a whoop, but he did. She wasn’t expecting him to toss her the keys to the car, either, but he did that too. She understood when he pulled out his phone as soon as they were in the car and rolled her eyes while he called his boss.

“Sarge? That transfer request?”

Kevin grinned impishly at Greg’s reply.

“Shred it.”

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gleeful author grin* Did you _really_ think I'd let one of my favorite _Flashpoint_ characters get away? Perish the thought! Now, I do point out that this isn't a _cure_ in the traditional sense - a fact that may well come back to bite our guys - but it's clearly going to work (at least for now).
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed and as always, I cherish all comments, so...pretty please?
> 
> Ahem. Moving on from my own shameless comment begging... We'll be taking a brief detour off the main storyline for a quick Side Story oneshot, "One Bracelet to Rule Them All", which will be posted on Friday, September 20th, 2019.
> 
> In one last minute bit of news, I've also put up a poll on my profile over on Fanfiction.net (same pen-name as here) for which Side Story everyone would like to read next (like most of my Side Stories, this Side Story will be posted all in one go, on a date of my choosing, which may be before the upcoming holiday Side Stories or not. Haven't decided yet). Please do go over, check out the poll, and respond.
> 
> See you on the battlefield!


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